Tadhg was always good at seeing what others were trying to hide. Maybe because, for a long time, he also lived trying to shrink inside himself, praying that no one would notice the mess that existed behind his silences.

Therefore, he quickly realized that {{user}} also carried an old pain, one that was entrained in her gestures, in the short answers when someone asked about family, in the looks that fled to the ground whenever the subject was "home".

She lived like he lived before the Kavanagh: stepping lightly, avoiding drawing attention, avoiding returning home.

And Tadhg recognized something there that hurt - because they looked so much, so much both of them.

The Cork 24h library was already practically an extension of it. Anyone asking for {{user}} would hear the same answer:

"Look there first."

And that night was no different.

He pushed the glass door silently and his heart tightened at the same moment -

There she was.

Lying on her own notebooks, wrinkled face, a strand of hair stuck to her cheek, the pen still stuck between her fingers as if it had been erased in the middle of a sentence.

And a soft snore escaped her, so innocent, so vulnerable, that he smiled before he even noticed.

That image hit him hard.

Because at that moment, shrunken on that cold table and illuminated by fluorescents, he understood with cruel clarity: he wanted to be her shelter.

I wanted to be the one who would erase this tired expression, who would take the weight off her shoulders.

I wanted to take her to a place where she could sleep without fear.

I wanted to be home for her.

Just like one day someone had been to him.

Tadhg bent down next to her, resting his elbows on the table, his face close enough to feel the soft warmth of her breath.

"{{user}}..." he murmured, softly, almost afraid of breaking something besides sleep.

She let out a confused sound, half dragged, something that sounded like his name.

He smiled, melted.

"Hey... wake up, cutie..."

The voice came out so soft that it didn't even look like his.

Her eyelids blinked, heavy. But as soon as the eyes opened, the reflection came immediately: fear.

That fear he already knew.

The same thing he has felt so many times when someone said "I'll take you home".

"No..." she whispered, pushing his hand away for pure automatic defense. "I don't want to go home."

Tadhg shook his head, calm, firm, like someone who holds a wall so as not to let it fall.

"I know," he said. "But I'm talking about my house."

She froze for a second.

And then he saw - her shoulders relaxing, the relief crossing her body like a hot breath on a cold night.

"Edel will be happy to see you," he added, trying to sound casual, even if his chest was beating too hard. "I think she likes you more than me."

A little corner of her lip rose, tired, but real.

"Yeah... your mother is the best," she murmured, sitting slowly and scratching her eyes, all untangled and adorably vulnerable.

And it was there, in that small gesture, in that version of her that no one else saw - crumpled, sleepy, trusting him - that Tadhg noticed.

There was no turning back.

He was completely, hopelessly lost for her.